


Jumping Ahead

by these_dreams_go_on



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 05:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10960278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/these_dreams_go_on/pseuds/these_dreams_go_on
Summary: Bellamy and the other delinquents return to Earth after five years in space, reuniting him with Clarke.





	Jumping Ahead

  
  
_New Ark- Day 1_

“No!”

John grabbed her from behind, his hands covering her eyes and she immediately freezes, “What’s wrong?” she demands, trying to listen for sounds of distress from the others.

“Keep your eyes closed.” He orders, “I want to show you something.”

“Hey,” he continues, his body pressed against her back, pillowed by the hazmat suits they hadn’t taken off yet, “Raven, blindfold Echo.”

Raven snorts, “How about I _not_ , and she just follows you two?”

John shrugs, “Fine, come on Echo.”

A swish of material and Emori- who does _not_ like being blind with an Azgeda warrior around- senses her standing beside them,

“What exactly are you going to do?” she asks, voice thick with disdain.

But Emori can feel John’s excitement in the tiny tremble of his hands, “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Once Emori promises to keep her eyes closed and no peeking, a promise extracted with as much force as a blood bond, John leads her and Echo down the cold hallway, with the harsh light that penetrated her eyelids.

She hadn’t thought space would be so cold and the air so…it tasted like poison.

Echo’s boots stomp on the floor, the same as them until suddenly she stops and gasps.

“ _Oh._ ”  

Emori frowns but John is covering her eyes again and shuffling her around, “Okay,” he tells her, his voice smug with pride, “You can look.”

The first thing she sees is a window and her reflection in the glass, she wonders what he was talking about before her brain finally tells her what she’s missing.

Right in front of her.

And it’s so big. Bigger than she could have imagined and with endless blues and greens, jagged pieces that somehow came together....

The Earth.

She rocks back on her heels and glances at Echo who has covered her mouth with her hand, staring down in wonder and she doesn’t want to spoil this moment for her. She looks over her shoulder where John is grinning, “It’s pretty when it’s not trying to kill you.”

She smirks and takes his hand, “Thank-you.”

* * *

_New Ark- Day 1835_

John meandered around the corner, leaning against the wall and taking a moment to watch Emori.

She was already in her hazmat suit, her helmet tucked under her left arm, but after five years of being treated as one of them, she’s not lurking anxiously by the rocket, instead, she was sitting on the viewing platform, staring out into space.

Down at the Earth.

John hadn’t realized how much he, Bellamy, Raven, Monty and Harper had taken the view for granted until Emori and Echo spent so much time there. Harper had managed to get one of the e-books working again and while they couldn’t use it for much, she had downloaded a map so the two of them could figure out what parts of the Earth they had walked across and recognized.

They had all stood there once as a group, as the death wave rolled across the planet, and they hadn’t been able to literally see it, but they had seen the aftermath.

It didn’t look nearly as appealing as it had when they’d been kids, but they didn’t exactly have much choice about returning.

Even if they could miraculously get another five years out of the machines keeping them alive, the ones pretty much being held together by Raven’s stubbornness, there wasn’t anything in the universe that stood a chance of keeping Bellamy from the ground for another day.

Clarke and Octavia were down there.

A few times, John had come to fetch Emori from the window and found Bellamy there, not seeing the planet before him so much as he was glaring at it, daring it to defy him and his need to be back with the women he loved. 

He’d been badgering Raven to get the rocket ready for the last year.

“I’m going to miss this,” Emori confesses, turning to look up at him, “It’s a lot nicer when you’re very far away and safe.”

He smirks, “Yeah, that’s my opinion, unfortunately, I’ve already booked our seats on the return trip, so…”

She sighs but when he approaches her right side, she holds out what she called her ‘normal’ hand and he helps her up, sliding his arms about her waist and kissing her on the lips.

“Don’t worry,” John whispered in her ear, “There’s no way in hell Bellamy’s going to let that rocket do anything but land safely…”

“Screw Bellamy,” Emori bit back, “I want that rocket to be safe by Raven’s standards, not those of an idiot in love.”

John leans back, “If you were on the ground, I’d be making the same calls he is.”

She raises her eyebrows, “If I were on the ground, you’d be right there with me.”

He grins, “Yeah, and we might finally have some privacy.”

* * *

_The Ground- Day 1836_

One thousand and eight hundred days after the death wave, Clarke had left the bunker, walked across the island, rowed the boat across the water to the beach where she had parked the rover.

She had driven it into what had once been Trishanakru territory, a place of steep hills that give her the best view of the surrounding region and then set up camp.

Sheer force of will had kept her upright long enough to get her tent up so she would have cover when she slept.

Except it was hard to sleep when every sudden sound had you anticipating the roar of a rocket returning to Earth.

Still, the death wave had knocked out the radio towers and despite her best efforts to teach herself how to rebuild and rewire them, she hadn’t managed to restore communication with the Ark or Octavia’s bunker.

That had been a week after the death wave.

She had lasted an entire year before she’d travelled to Polis and beaten her fists bloody against the bunker door, screaming to be let in, begging for someone to hear her, for someone to _talk_ to her.

They hadn’t even known she was there.

The clans had prioritized their Nightbloods, unaware that they could potentially survive radiation and taking them into Octavia’s bunker.

The only good thing to come out of the situation was that Clarke could ransack the Mountain where one of the rovers had managed to survive the destruction.

Not intact, but she’d had four years to learn how to fix it.

And to learn enough about air and water tests to know it would be another one hundred and eighty-two days before the first batch of scientists began to emerge from Octavia’s bunker.

But her friends on the New Ark?

If she remembered Raven’s pessimistic comments as they’d loaded up the rocket, they would have been pressing their luck to get their machines a day past the five-year mark.

So, when Clarke had drawn a diagonal line through the three hundred and sixtieth group of four vertical lines she’d marked onto the wall of her bunker, she had known that she still had more days to wait.

But she might as well wait them out, outside.

She spends her days waiting on the ridge, one fixed radio sitting in her lap even though there were no radio towers to relay the signal. And an environment which was finally starting to recover in which to while away the hours.

She knows that the five years of solitude hadn’t been good for her, especially with so many of them in the bunker, but the very worst day of her life, in the six years that she and her people had been on this Earth, had been two hundred days after the death wave when she had taken the risk and climbed out to see with her own two eyes the destruction.

It had been beyond description, the Earth reduced to brown wasteland without clear distinction in the horizon of where the ruined land had ended and the sky began.

Even when the persevering planet had started to fight back, blue starting to bleed across the sky, green crawling inch by inch across the earth, Clarke had refused to leave the bunker, turning her face away from the monitors.

She had spent a lot of time sleeping after that.

But she was awake now.

Especially when she spots something bright in the sky, something that caught the light of the sun and was moving faster than the sound of the engines could reach her.

She grabs her binoculars and checks that she’s not imagining things, that it really was the rocket returning.

She grabs the radio, pressing the button even though she knows it’s an impossible chance,

“Bellamy,” she shouts, “I can see you, I’m coming, I promise!”

She watches the rocket, trying to guess its trajectory and its landing site.

She guesses that Raven would want to have a controlled crash in a body of water. Not the ocean because none of them could swim and who knew what kind of creatures resided there.

Her leg is shaking up and down as she stares so hard her eyes protest, water and she nearly misses it when the rocket disappears into tree line.

She notes the position in relation to the sun, tries to note any landmarks and runs back to her rover, not bothering to pack up her tent or anything that she’d left lying around.

It was early morning when the rocket came down and it is late afternoon when her rover runs out of power, so she climbs out and begins walking, looking up through the trees to keep an eye on her position in relation to the sun until she finds a stream, which she follows, hoping it leads to a lake.

Hopefully one without giant slug-snake monsters.

A shift in the wind and she catches the barest hint of smoke.

She can’t remember the last time she was _glad_ to smell that.

She starts running, her legs and arms pumping as she moves faster than she ever has before.

She loses her footing in the damp earth, scrambles on her hands before pushing herself up again and breaks out of the forest to find herself on the shore of a lake.

The setting sun bleeds triumphantly across the sky, the burning yellow, vivid reds and oranges, fading away behind her into a tender violet. She shields her eyes against the brightness, turning her face to the waterfall that cascaded down into the lake, cool air rising from the aqua water.

She takes a breath and looks back, as one figure comes splashing to shore, spitting up water and shaking his arms and legs, trying to remove his hazmat suit, managing to pull off his helmet but she already knew who he was.

“Bellamy,” she croaks his name, her voice lost in the sounds of the oncoming night, but somehow, he pivots and she can tell the exact moment he sees her.

His helmet drops from his hand, rolling a foot away but he doesn’t notice. He is too far away for her to see the expression on his face but he holds up his arm, waving it above his head and she finds herself lunging forward, her feet barely touching the ground as she kicks up the pebbles of the shore in her wake.

She doesn’t bother slowing down, or stopping until they collide, his arms snapping closed around her as he takes a half-step back to counter the force, keeping them both upright as she throws her arms around his shoulders, stretches up on her toes and presses her face into his neck.

He groans, the breath from his nostrils warm against her ear, stirring the strands of her hair as he holds her even tighter, he laughs softly, tilting his head so that his temple rests against hers.

To her, he smells of space, of the cold, recycled air, the malnutrition, mingled up in the sweat of a stressful landing, all of which hadn’t yet been washed away by the water.

Her legs shake from having to hold her position and reluctantly, she begins to release him, the two of them pulling apart slowly until she steps back.

He hasn’t changed.

He’s pale and there are bags under his eyes, perhaps his jaw is more sharply defined but he still has that intense, all-seeing gaze that manages to still be soft and comforting as he runs his eyes over her, noticeably checking that she’s okay.

“I…” she chokes and closes her mouth to swallow before trying again, “I…is everyone okay?”

If he realizes that she changed her statement into a question he doesn’t say anything but turns to the rocket that was twenty feet away still buoyant in the lake, although slowly beginning to sink.

Monty was hovering in the doorway, one foot on the step, ready to drop into the water but with his head slightly bowed. When they look at him, he takes a breath and eases his way into the lake, paddling clumsily forward until he can touch the bottom and wade out.

“Hi,” Clarke exhales, a grin stretching across her face as she pulls him, soaking suit and all into a hug,

“I’ve missed you all, so much.”

* * *

_Trishanakru Territory- Day 1 12:01am_

Five years.

He had forgot what clean air smelt like.

What it tasted like.

What it meant to have earth under your shoes and to touch a tree with your bare hand.

What it was to be cold because night was falling, and for the darkness to be settling in around you.

Still, he’s glad when they reach the rover and he makes his way to the driver’s side without even stopping to think. He might not have driven in five years, but Clarke clambers in beside him and almost immediately twists around to continue talking to the group.

She hadn’t stopped peppering them with questions since Raven had made it to shore, the last in the group. Even though, after setting up the New Ark to keep seven people alive for five years, there hadn’t been much to do except hate being back there.

But she wants to know everything and stops only to put a hand on Bellamy’s arm and tell him which route to take to get back to the island.

He had hoped when they’d landed that the bunker would be open, even though he’d known that his people would err on the side of caution and run every test before emerging.

Still, he could radio his sister once he got back to the island.

Clarke leads them down the stairs, turning on the light and Raven’s the first to notice the change.

“Wow,” she comments, limping over to the wall, “Nice artwork.”

Bellamy remembers there having been a book shelf there but it was gone now, baring a wall that had been covered in a mural.

He sees Lincoln, crouched before a fire, watching it as if it contained secrets he needed to know. Lexa with her sword drawn. He sees Jasper, his goggles pushed back and smiling, Wells with his head bent over a chessboard.

He sees Spacewalker holding a flower in his hand and Clarke eyes Raven nervously as she approaches,

“I had a lot of time to kill,” she explains, glancing at Bellamy carefully, “It…they need to be memorialized somewhere _outside_ of us.”

Raven nods, “Maybe one day we’ll carve their names into a wall, and tell stories about them around a campfire.”

Perhaps when it no longer tore their hearts to speak of them.

Bellamy clears his throat and puts a hand on his hip, “Where’s the radio?” he asks and Clarke turns away,

“Monty,” she calls and he and Harper emerge from the bedroom, “We’ll need you and Raven to figure out how to use a radio without a radio tower.”

Monty blinks and opens his mouth but Murphy interrupts, “If there’s no radio tower, how have you been communicating with the other bunker?” he asks and Bellamy feels a sinking sensation in his stomach before Clarke can bring herself to answer.

“I…I haven’t,” she confesses, “But I went to Polis a year after the death wave and the bunker doors were still in place, so it survived intact and I’m sure everyone is okay.”

Right now, no-one in the bunker- except maybe Echo- gives a damn about the other bunker.

Not when Clarke had just told them that she’d spent the last five years alone.

If Bellamy had _known_ …

He’s not sure how he would have got back to Earth, but he would have found his way back to her a lot sooner.

The bunker isn’t made for eight people, but Murphy and Emori use the excuse of ‘keeping watch’ to sneak out, Harper takes the bed, Raven and Monty head to the science lab to get to work on the radios, and Echo finds a spot where a pool table had used to be to stretch out.

Bellamy figures that leaves him the couch, but after an hour of staring at the ceiling and remembering that he’s spent the last five years doing the exact same thing, he gets up and goes looking for Clarke.

She’s in the bathroom, but the door is open and when the floorboard creaks under his foot, she whispers for him to come in.

He still edges in slowly, but she’s dressed in pyjamas and is sitting on the lowered toilet seat, a sketchbook in hand and her pencil brushing over the paper.

“Weird place to find inspiration.” he jokes, easing in and closing the door until it’s only partially ajar. She rests the sketchbook on her knee and shrugs,

“I know, it’s just…I’m getting used to being around people again, you know?”

No.

He doesn’t and would give anything in the world for her not to either.

He doesn’t know what to say so he turns to the mirror, looking at his reflection for the first time in years.

Raven could finally stop shaving the boys.

She’d always been _way_ too cocky when holding her switchblade to their throats.

He still had nightmares about the time Echo had insisted on subbing-in for her.

Clarke puts her things aside and stands behind him, looking over his shoulder,

“I tried sketching you,” she tells him, her voice low and yet somehow filling the tiled space before reaching his ears,

“So many times, I nearly even started on the wall…one in the lab,” she adds, hurriedly, “Not the one you saw.”

Good. He’s not dead yet.

She reaches up, stroking one of his curls behind his ear, her pinky finger brushing the shell,

“But every time I started, it just reminded me that you were millions of miles away and made me miss you even more.”

He watches her in the mirror, the expression on her face as she speaks and he struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“Thought you didn’t feel that way, Princess,” he murmurs, even as he leans infinitesimally into her touch, “I told you before that rocket launched I loved you and you told me you didn’t feel the same.”

She laughs softly, and presses her lips to his shoulder blade, kissing it through his shirt,

“Of course, I said that Bellamy,” she says, pushing herself onto her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder, her blue eyes meeting his in the mirror,

“If I had told you how I really feel about you, there is no way you would have got on that rocket and stayed on the Ark for five years, and I needed you there, I needed you _safe_.”

He wants to argue with her, point out that it wasn’t her decision to make, that they could have found a way for him to stay with her, for them to have not lost so much time together.

But arguing with her won’t get those one thousand, eight hundred and thirty-six days back.

They’d known each other for six years and been separated for five of them.

He takes his hands off the sink and begins moving slowly, turning around and she doesn’t move an inch, so she has to tilt her head back to look into his eyes when he’s facing her.

He slowly raises his hand, cupping her cheek gently and she smiles, her eyelids fluttering as he brushes her skin with his thumb, “Tell me how you feel about me, Clarke.”

She hums as his thumb ghosts over her cheek again, “Like you’re the other half of me,” she says, her eyes never leaving his,

“Every time you’re not beside me, I feel like I’m missing something vital, like you’re my strengths and weaknesses simultaneously, and that I couldn’t survive on this Earth without you.”

He wants to point out that past evidence has shown she definitely _cannot_ survive on this Earth without him there, but she turns her face slightly, kissing the pad of his thumb and before he can even register his own movement, he’s leaning down to kiss her. Gently at first, chastely, savouring that they’re relatively safe and have all the time in the world. He wraps an arm around her waist to tug her closer and he can sense her wincing so he pulls back, “You okay?”

She smirks, “No,” she puts her hands on his shoulders as she lowers herself back down,

“You’re too tall.”

He chuckles, taking his hand off her cheek and putting it on her waist before lifting her onto the sink, where she opens her knees for him to stand between them and slips her arms back around his shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“My height isn’t the problem, Princess,” he breathes as he goes to kiss her again and she’s just parted her lips, allowing him to slip his tongue inside her when she makes a sound of protest and leans back, “Are you calling me _short_?”

He bites the inside of his lip to keep himself from laughing, “No…” he manages, not convincingly at all,

“I’m not short!” she protests, “You’re tall.”

With boots on, he’d be lucky to break 5.9, Jasper had been six ft, as was Roan, Kane and Jaha. Lincoln had been 6.1, which, considering Octavia was the same height as Clarke, had given Bellamy a sense of pride on the rare occasions the two of them fought and she would jab him in the chest, glaring up at him and obviously not the least bit cowed by the difference.

Clarke, according to the med bracelet she'd worn when they'd landed, was barely 5.4.

“Okay,” he says, surrendering the high ground and leans in to kiss her again but she pulls back, folding her arms across her chest,

“Think I’ve changed my mind,” she drawls, “I don’t care about you at all.”

He ducks his head, laughing under his breath, “Seriously?” he asks, resting his hands on her knees and she shrugs,

“Seriously.” she echoes and he steps back, losing the fight against his smile,

“Okay,” he says again, “You want me to get you a step ladder to get down or…”

She picks up the bar of soap behind her and raises it above her head threateningly and he steps back, colliding with the door, his back hitting the handle and laughing as it clicked shut. Clarke watched him with a smile and pushed herself off the sink, gathering her sketchbook and pencil as he opened the door for her. 

“Hey,” she says, holding out her hand and he takes it in his, linking their fingers together, “I love you.”

He grins, “I love you too.”

 

 


End file.
